


until the stars fall from the sky

by level3puckbunny



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Overprotective Siblings, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Toronto Maple Leafs, novelty flag underwear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 16:31:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3417677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/level3puckbunny/pseuds/level3puckbunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Wait, you’re not one of the wristname crazies, are you? Like, the ones who think you can only ever be happy with your eternal wrist soulmate or whatever, and any other relationships are wasting time that could be spent searching the globe?”<br/>	“No,” Jake said defensively. “It’s just, like, you’re not excited at all?”</p>
<p>Sometimes, finding your soulmate makes everything more complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	until the stars fall from the sky

**Author's Note:**

> This is a wristnames AU, set over the waning months of the 2013-14 season and the beginning of that summer. I started off writing this thinking of how terrifying finding your predestined soulmate at 20 (or ever, really) must be, and it ended up a tale of emotional flailing and a snarky yet supportive family.

 

            It was the summer of 2010 when the faint shadows of lines started to appear on Jake’s wrist. First they were only visible in bright sunlight, not legible yet, and Jake spent hours lying out on the trampoline squinting at the name and wondering.

            “That’s an M,” Max said after a few weeks, poking at Jake’s arm. “It definitely starts with M.”

            “Yeah.”

            “Do you even know any girls whose names start with M?”

            “Maybe? I know a lot of girls.”

            “Yeah, you’re knee-deep in pussy, Casanova.” Jake socked Max in the side, still frowning over his wrist. “Come on, stop obsessing, and let’s go get lunch. I think Mom made potato salad.”

            By the time Jake went back to college in the fall, he was wearing a wristband, under which was a clearly defined name printed in neat capital letters. MORGAN. Had he ever met a Morgan? Had she been hot?

            “Maybe you’re meant to marry Morgan Freeman,” Max said to him one evening, over the first of what would be many drinking sessions over Skype. “He’s got a really nice voice. Sensual.”

            “Maybe you’re meant to shut the fuck up,” Jake responded easily, and Max grinned at him unapologetically.

            “I only have your best interests at heart.”

           

_Four Years Later_

 

            When Jake walked through the front door of his apartment after coming back from spending the Olympic break in Minnesota, it was to discover that Morgan was back already and was lying on the couch watching shitty television. He looked up and smiled when Jake came through the door.

            “Hey,” he said, a little too sweetly. “How was home?” Jake ignored this completely.

            “What did you do?”

            “Sorry?” Morgan asked innocently.

            “When did your flight get in? A couple hours ago, yeah? So what did you do?” Jake dumped his suitcase in the middle of the living room and started looking around. “Where’s the Canadian stuff?”

            “Oh, come on, you think I would pull some dumb prank on you because we won gold?” Morgan scoffed. “Canada has already proved its superiority to the US on the greatest hockey stage in the world. I don’t _need_ to prank you.”

            “I’m still the one with the gold medal,” Jake said, but he was starting to relax. Morgan had a terrible poker face, and he didn’t look as smug as he would have if he’d switched all Jake’s underwear out for novelty Canadian flag boxers, or replaced the sheets on Jake’s bed with Team Canada bedding and then short-sheeted it. Morgan was at heart a mischevious twelve-year-old.

            “It’s so cute you think your World Juniors medal from four years ago gives you lifelong bragging rights.”

            “That’s the sort of thing a sad medal-less loser would say,” Jake told him, picking up his suitcase and walking down the hall to his bedroom. The first clue should have been that his bedroom door was ajar, but he was just tired enough from his trip that it didn’t register until he’d pulled it open. The Solo cup full of red maple leaf confetti knocked him on the head on its way to the floor. As Jake stood there blinking and covered in tiny paper maple leaves, he heard Morgan laughing hysterically from the couch, and then the sound of Morgan’s phone snapping a picture.

            “True north strong and free, motherfucker,” Morgan yelled, and a moment later Jake tackled him.

            It wasn’t until the next morning over breakfast that Jake saw something more important had changed in the two weeks he’d been in Minnesota.

            “Hey.” Morgan looked up from his cereal, and Jake nodded at the band on Morgan’s wrist. “That’s new.”

            “Oh. Yeah, it started showing up while I was home.” Morgan didn’t sound that excited about the idea. “I turn 20 on the 9th, so it’s about the right time, yeah?”

            “Yeah. That’s awesome, man.” Morgan shrugged, shoveling in a bite of Cheerios.

            “I guess.”

            “You guess?” Morgan looked up at Jake in surprise.

            “Wait, you’re not one of the wristname crazies, are you? Like, the ones who think you can only ever be happy with your eternal wrist soulmate or whatever, and any other relationships are wasting time that could be spent searching the globe?”

            “No,” Jake said defensively. “It’s just, like, you’re not excited at all?”

            “I mean, I’m not _not_ excited,” Morgan told him, going back to his cereal. “But seriously, what are the odds of actually meeting your wrist match? Isn’t it, like, ten percent or something?”

            “12.7 percent,” Jake said, a little too quickly, and Morgan looked up at him again.

            “You are one of the crazies! I should have known. You always did like _The Notebook_ a little too much.”

            “Oh, bite me. My parents are matched, that’s all.”

            “Huh, really?”

            “Yeah. They ended up bumping into each other randomly at a bar one night. Mom likes to joke that Dad’s name on her wrist even came with the first letter of his last name, because there are a lot of Johns in the world and she wanted to be sure she had the right one.” Jake had no idea if that story was true, but he’d heard it a lot growing up.

            “Aw, that’s kind of cute.”

            “Yeah, they’re disgustingly cute.” Jake knew he sounded a little wistful, but surprisingly, Morgan didn’t mock him.

            “So are my parents, you know, and they’re not matched. Dad says he’s never even met a real-life woman with the right name.”

            “Yeah, no, I know it’s not really that important, but...I just wonder, sometimes.”

            “I can get that.” Morgan drained his coffee mug, and then held it out towards Jake, who was sitting on the side of the kitchen island closer to the pot. “Can you pour me some more?”

            “Fine, lazy-ass,” Jake sighed, getting up to do that, because he was a hopeless sucker for Morgan in ways he really didn’t want to dwell on. He even put in way too much sugar, exactly the way Morgan liked it, and to cover for the niceness took a big, slurping sip before he handed the mug back to Morgan.

            “Gross, Gardiner. Really gross.”

            As the weeks passed, Jake found himself wondering what name was appearing on Morgan’s wrist far too often, which was really at all. Morgan hadn’t mentioned it to him, and it would have been incredibly rude to ask, but as the days passed Jake was obsessing over it more and more. He remembered the first time he’d met Morgan, shaking his hand at training camp in January of 2013. It had been quick and informal, but Jake had felt an explosion of butterflies in his stomach when the tall blond teenager with a sweet smile had introduced himself.

            “Hi. I’m Morgan, nice to meet you.”

            Up until that moment, Jake had assumed that the Morgan somewhere out there who was his soulmate was a girl, but as he shook Morgan’s hand he found himself wishing for a moment that it was _this_ Morgan. A quick glance told him that both Morgan’s wrists were bare, and then Jake mentally slapped himself for creepiness. Morgan wasn’t an uncommon name, and he needed to not be weird around this guy. Over a year later, and Morgan was Jake’s teammate, roommate, and best friend, a fixture in Jake’s life, and Jake needed to stop thinking about the developing name on Morgan’s wrist. That wasn’t any of his damn business unless Morgan brought it up.

            At first, when Jake noticed Morgan was acting off, he chalked it up to their March losing streak. No one was happy, especially not the guys like Jake who had been on the team two years ago to see the eighteen-wheeler go off the cliff. By the beginning of April, the Leafs were virtually eliminated from the playoffs, and even so Jake knew there was something unrelated going on with Morgan. He was quiet, pale and tired like he wasn’t sleeping well, and he seemed jumpy and awkward even when it was just him and Jake. It was concerning, doubly so when Jake noticed Morgan rubbing his thumb over the inside of the wristband a couple times, like whatever was under it was bothering him.

            “Is everything okay?” Jake asked the question late one night, about a week before the end of the season. They were watching _Suits_ , which was a weekly ritual for the two of them, but Morgan hadn’t said a word the whole episode. Usually Jake couldn’t get him to shut up long enough to figure out the plot.

            “Yeah. Everything’s fine.” The answer was too quick to be even remotely believable. 

            “Are you sure?” Jake pressed. “You haven’t been yourself lately.”

            “It’s nothing. Just tired. Ready for the off-season.” Jake didn’t miss Morgan fidgeting with his wristband, though.

            “If you need to talk about anything, I’m here,” Jake said, finally. “Anything, seriously.” Morgan smiled at him, but Jake could tell it was forced. What the fuck was on Morgan’s wrist?

            “Thanks.”

            They lost their final game of the season in Ottawa, 1-0, and the bus back to the hotel downtown was dead silent. As they got off, Bozak grabbed Jake’s arm.

            “Want to come get shitfaced with us?”

            “Fuck yes,” Jake said fervently, glad some of the guys were going out. Otherwise, he’d have ended up laying waste to the minibar in his room, and that would have been even more tragic. “Where?”

            “Hotel bar. I think Phil and Reemer are already there.”

            This turned out to be fully accurate, and Jake took a seat in the middle of a rapidly growing cluster of teammates, downing a couple shots just to take the edge off. He was keeping an eye out for Morgan, but after a half hour, there was still no sign of him.

            “Hey, anyone seen Mo?” he asked the group at large, and was met with a lot of head-shakes _no_.

            “I think he went up to your room,” Holland ventured. “I saw him get on the elevator right after we got here.”

            “Lame,” Bozak said, drawing out the _a_ long enough to prove he’d had more than a couple shots already. “You should go find him and drag him down here, Gards.”

            “Sure,” Jake said, already on his feet. “I’ll be right back.”

            When Jake let himself into the hotel room, all the lights were off, and he wondered for a second if Holland had been wrong.

            “Mo?” he called, flicking on some lamps, and then Morgan sat up, disconnecting his earbuds. Jake took one look at his face and knew that he’d either been crying or very close to it. “Morgan...”

            “I thought you were at the bar,” Morgan said, embarrassed, and Jake crossed the room to sit down on his bed.

            “I was. I came to bring you down there. Everyone’s getting drunk, and Neuf and Phil are splitting the tab, or so I hear.”

            “Sounds great. You should go back there.”

            “Like hell. What the fuck is _wrong_?” Morgan didn’t answer, staring down at his hands. “What name’s on your wrist?” That got Jake a reaction; Morgan’s head snapped up, eyes wide and shocked. “I fucking knew it. What’s it say?”

            “Jake, please-” Morgan attempted, but Jake cut him off.

            “Is it a guy’s name? Is that it? You know no one cares, buddy, especially not me. If you did meet a dude and bring him around, I’d be totally chill. Just _tell me_.” Morgan was silent again, looking away, and in a moment of desperation, Jake grabbed Morgan’s hand and turned it palm up. He heard Morgan’s breath catch, and maybe if he had tried to yank away Jake would have stopped, but Morgan just sat there frozen. Fumbling, Jake undid the snaps holding the strap in place, and as it fell away he stared down at the neat black lettering on Morgan’s wrist. He’d been right, it was a guy’s name, but he had to say he hadn’t been expecting this particular one so much as trying not to hope. It was his own.

            Shocked joy bubbling in his chest, Jake looked up at Morgan’s face, to see that Morgan was holding back tears again.

            “I’m sorry,” Morgan said, hoarsely, and Jake shook his head emphatically. He felt like he was about to start laughing from pure happiness, the relief and amazement echoing through his brain. Fuck the odds, he was the luckiest guy in the world.

            “No, no, don’t be sorry, don’t be sorry at all,” he said, dropping Morgan’s hand so he could yank at the strap on his own wrist. “Look, see.” He got it off and put his wrist next to Morgan’s, the names lining up but facing different directions. “See? Everything’s fine. Everything’s _great_.” Morgan stared down at his name on Jake’s wrist for a few seconds, too shocked to speak, before suddenly he scrambled to get out of bed and stand up. “Morgan?”

            “Fuck,” Morgan breathed, bolting into his jeans. He was outright crying, and Jake knew they weren’t happy tears. The realization felt like a stab to the heart. “Oh, God, Jake. Jake, I am so sorry.”

            “What’s wrong?” Jake didn’t know what was happening, but he knew it wasn’t good, the kind of not good that left him feeling like he was going to puke. “Morgan, just--just sit down, please, we can talk about this, okay?” Morgan shook his head.

            “No. I--I can’t. I’m so sorry. You deserve so much better than this,” he said, his voice cracking. “Better than me. Fuck. Oh, fuck. I’m sorry.” And then he was out the door, leaving Jake sitting on the bed, too blindsided and heartbroken to move.

            Jake flew straight back to Minnesota the next day on a last-minute ticket, not even going back to the apartment first. He had his road trip bag with him, and that would get him through a while at his parents’, long enough to make sure Morgan had cleared out and gone back to Vancouver. They hadn’t communicated at all since Morgan had left that hotel room, and Jake didn’t even know where Morgan had slept that night. He wished he didn’t care.

            He was standing outside the airport waiting for his mom to pick him up when his phone buzzed with a text. It was from Max.

_mom says ur coming home? today?_

_yeah. in mpls now,_ Jake texted back. A minute later, his phone started ringing.

            “Hey.”

            “What’s going on?” Max asked suspiciously. “You said your ticket home wasn’t for a week.”

            “Yeah, uh, I needed to come home early.”

            “Oh, fuck, Mom was right,” Max said, concerned now. “You sound awful. What happened?” Jake sighed, leaning against a nearby lamppost.

            “Morgan’s wrist name appeared.”

            “And it wasn’t you?” There were times Jake was forced to admit he massively underestimated his little brother’s powers of observation.

            “No. It was.” There was a beat of silence from Max’s end.

            “Is he in Toronto right now?” Max asked abruptly. “Tell me where you think he’ll be. I’ll grab a couple of my teammates, we can make it to Toronto in five hours, even with a pit stop to buy a shotgun.”

            “Aren’t you supposed to be going to college?” Max was in his sophomore year playing hockey for Penn State.

            “Fuck _that_. This prick hurt you. And to think I liked him.” The seething rage in Max’s tone was making Jake feel a little better, strangely. “God, he must be so deep in the closet he’s in fucking Narnia.”

            “I don’t even know,” Jake said tiredly. He saw his mother’s car approaching, and waved to get her attention. “He didn’t really say why, but he was really upset. Like, maybe more than me.”

            “Yeah, I’m really shedding a lot of tears for him. What a fuckwit.”

            “Yeah,” Jake said, closing his eyes for a second. “Max, Mom’s here, so I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

            “Sure. If I don’t pick up, it’s because I’m murdering Rielly and I’ll get roaming charges if I answer my phone in Canada.”

            “Don’t bother. You’ve got a bright future or whatever.”

            “Fine,” Max said on an exaggerated sigh, and Jake had to smile as he loaded his bag into the trunk of his mom’s car. “Hang in there.” 

            “I will. Later.” Jake hung up as he got into the passenger seat, and his mother turned to give him a hug.

            “Hello, sweetie.”

            “Hey,” Jake said, hugging her back. He might be 23 years old, but a hug from his mother was still an automatic comfort. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

            “Well, I wasn’t going to make you take a taxi. That’s too expensive, even for my son the NHL player.” His mom’s tone was light, but as she settled back into her seat and shifted the car back into drive, she was giving Jake a surreptitiously concerned side-eye. “Especially after you spent all that money on a last-minute plane ticket.”

            “Yeah.” Jake looked out his window at the traffic, fidgeting with his wristband. Now he was the one bothered by what was under it.

            “Is there something going on that I need to be worried about?” his mother asked, and Jake shook his head.

            “No.”

            “Okay. Then you’ll tell me when you’re ready.” Jake nodded gratefully. “Have you talked to Paige lately?”

            “Not for a week or two.” His mom launched into a story about Jake’s little sister Paige and some exciting internship she was applying for, and they spent the rest of the drive home engaged in family gossip.

            He didn’t talk to his parents about what had happened for a week. Neither his mom or dad questioned Jake’s frequent lengthy workouts, or how he was spending most of his time alone in his room. Max and Paige were both still away at college, and the house felt uncomfortably empty without his siblings, especially the bedroom Jake had shared with Max his entire childhood. It still had an exactingly measured line of duct tape dividing the room in half, applied with the use of a yardstick by their father after his sons destroyed one too many breakables fighting. During the day while his parents were at work, Jake wandered around aimlessly, feeling rejected and worse, lonely. He hadn’t felt alone like this in years; that was one of the benefits of playing a team sport, the omnipresence of teammates. Whether it was in high school, at Wisconsin, or in Toronto, he’d always had teammates with him constantly, and this last year he’d had Morgan. With Morgan, it had felt less that he was always there and more that Morgan was central to Jake’s life, woven into the fabric of it. Jake felt his sudden absence like a physical ache.

            On the second Tuesday after Jake arrived, it was warm enough outside that Jake’s dad fired up the grill in a fit of excitement, and Jake helped him make pork chops for dinner in between playing tug-of-war with Bella. They ate outside, even though it was a little too chilly once the sun dipped below the trees, and Jake was sneaking the dogs bites of pork chop from the table when his dad addressed him.

            “So I talked to your brother today.”

            “Yeah?” Jake asked, looking up. It was a bad sign when his parents called Max or Paige _your brother_ or _your sister_. Usually, those words preceded a revelation that Jake’s siblings had been some degree of infuriating, and Jake’s personal theory was that his parents used the possessive phrases to remind Jake that the offender was indeed his close relative and he was obliged to not chase them down and beat them senseless with a hockey stick.

            “He told me what’s up with you. I was worried, so I’d asked.” Jake looked at his mother accusingly.

            “I thought you said-” She held her hands up.

            “I said I would leave you alone. I can’t make promises for your dad.” Sighing, Jake poked at the food left on his plate. “He told me after he talked to Max. I’m sorry, honey.”

            “Me too.” Jake could feel his parents looking at him, waiting for him to say more. “I didn’t think it would end up like this.”

            “Have you talked to him at all since then?” Jake’s dad asked, and Jake shook his head.

            “There really isn’t anything else to say.”

            “Well, now, that’s not true,” his mother told him from across the table. “Do you even know why he ran away like that?”

            “Does it matter?”

            “Of course it matters!” his dad said, emphatically. “Come on, Jake, giving up this easy isn’t like you.”

            “I’m not _giving up_ ,” Jake snapped, the words touching a nerve.

            “You are. Things didn’t go exactly how you’d always imagined they would, so you’re not even going to try and fix it.” Jake put his fork down, pushing his chair back to stand up, and his dad huffed in annoyance. “Going to hide in your room again?”

            “Yes.”

            An hour or so later, Jake was lying on his bed watching a shitty action movie on Netflix when there was a light knock on the bedroom door. Sighing, he hit pause.

            “Yeah?” The door opened and his mom slipped inside, coming over to sit at the foot of his bed the way she used to when Jake was younger and home sick from school.

            “Your dad put the Rangers playoff game on TV, and I think he’s making popcorn. He thought you might want to come out to watch Derek, at least.” Derek Stepan of the Rangers had been a good friend of Jake’s in college, and they were still close, especially because Derek was also from Minnesota.

            “Maybe.”

            “He didn’t mean to make it worse,” she went on gently. “He doesn’t like seeing you this upset. None of us do. Even Paige is taking time away from school to fuss.”

            “Of course you told Paige.”

            “Your brother did, but that’s neither here nor there.” His mother watched him for a few moments, before deciding to go on. “Magic doesn’t exist, Jake.”

            “What?” His mother smiled at him, loving and a little sad.

            “I think a lot of people think wristnames are magic, and finding your match _is_ wonderful. The man burning popcorn in my kitchen right now is proof of that. But it’s not magic. It doesn’t instantly turn your life into a fairytale where problems disappear and everything is easy. Any relationship is hard work, even if it’s with your soulmate.” Jake bit his lip, feeling his throat tighten.

            “He doesn’t want me, Mom.”

            “That’s not-” his mother began, before stopping herself. Jake watched her think for a few moments, and then she started talking again, quickly but confidently. “Look, Jake, if Morgan doesn’t realize how incredibly lucky he is to have you as his match, you can’t make him. That’s a problem with him, not you. But it’ll work out, even if it’s not with him. You’ll meet someone else, and they might not be predestined for you but they will be your soulmate, okay?” Jake didn’t think he could speak, but he nodded, and she patted his knee. “Come out when you’re ready and watch the game.”

            Jake did emerge from the bedroom five minutes later, just in time to hear his father’s sheepish apology for the scorched popcorn as he fanned the smoke alarm with a potholder, but before that he sent a text to Morgan.

_Can we talk sometime?_

            He didn’t hear anything for two days, despite checking his phone obsessively, and was starting to give up hope when he came in from playing fetch with the dogs and his mother called his name from the kitchen.

            “Jake?”

            “Yeah?” She pointed at something on the counter with the spatula she was using to brown some beef.

            “You left your phone in here, and it’s been making noise.” Jake’s heart leapt into his throat, and he grabbed for it, looking at the screen. There was a missed call from Morgan, but he’d left a message.

            “Be right back,” Jake said, ducking out into the backyard. Once he had quiet and relative privacy, he sat down on the trampoline and hit PLAY.

            “Hey, um, it’s me. Morgan. Hi. I got your text, and I just…” He faded off, and Jake heard him take a deep breath. “I owe you an apology, and an explanation, but I can’t...I need some time to think, first. Alone. I just wanted to tell you that, so you know what’s up, and also...I really fucking miss you. I wanted to tell you that, too.” There was a click as the message ended, and Jake sighed, flopping back onto the trampoline. Well, it was something.

            A few weeks passed, and while Jake didn’t return to _normal_ , per se, he wasn’t acutely, constantly miserable anymore. In early May, Max and Paige returned home from college, and with his siblings around the house yelling and fighting and singing off-key Taylor Swift, the loneliness was replaced by a comfortable irritation. Occasionally, Jake would give in and replay the voicemail Morgan had left on his phone, because sometimes he just wanted to hear Morgan saying that he missed Jake. It was comforting.

            “You need to get laid, clearly,” Max said one night. He, Jake, and Paige were out on deck chairs on the back lawn, getting chewed alive by mosquitoes despite the citronella candle Paige had futilely lit. They all had beers in hand, although Jake raised his eyebrows when his sister grabbed one out of the cooler.

            “Did you turn 21 when I wasn’t looking?”

            “Jake, what exactly do you think I’ve been doing at college?” Paige asked, popping the top on her can of Schell’s.

            “Going to classes and studying in the library and maybe holding some lucky boy’s hand.” She snorted into her beer.

            “Okay, Prudie McPruderson of Prudesville.” Max choked on a gulp of beer, and Jake rolled his eyes.

            “That’s cutting.”

            “Seriously though. Did you spend all your weekends at Wisconsin going to sock hops and getting milkshakes?”

            “And tripping dick-first into sorority girls,” Max added cheerfully, making Paige shriek with horror and Jake throw an empty beer can at his brother’s head.

            “Pot, meet kettle. And I do not need to get laid, by the way.”

            “You do. You’re doing better, but you’re still mooning over Rielly, and I don’t want you getting calluses on your hand.”

            “Of course he’s still upset! The guy’s his wristmate, do you think he’s just going to get over him in a month?” Paige demanded. “Idiot.”

            “I think he’d get over him a lot faster if he was getting under someone else, if you know what I mean.”

            “Oh, ew. Is today _scar Paige for life_ day?”

            “That’s every day,” Max said sweetly, and she flipped him off. “It doesn’t need to be a girl. He can explore his sexuality if he wants. No judgment here.”

            “Max, shut up,” Jake said, draining yet another beer. “Let’s just get shitfaced together, like family.”

            Late that night, after they’d moved on from beer to whiskey, Jake was sprawled out on his back on the grass staring drunkenly up at the stars. Paige had gone up to bed, and Max was asleep in his deck chair, snoring loudly. The solitude, the alcohol, and the conversation he’d had with his siblings were all combining to turn Jake wistful and moony. Yawning, he dug his phone out of his pocket, but this time instead of replaying Morgan’s message he stared at it for a long time. He’d listened to it so often that he knew it by heart, but it wasn’t enough by then. Eventually, like he wasn’t even in control of it any more, his thumb pressed the button that said CALL BACK.

            It was midnight in Minnesota, which meant it was 10pm in Vancouver, but Morgan’s phone rang through to voicemail. Jake tried not to think about all the other things Morgan might be off doing.

            “Hey, this is Morgan Rielly. I’m off living my life right now, so leave me a message if you want.” There was a beep, and then Jake started talking.

            “Mo, it’s Jake, although you probably knew that already, unless you deleted me from your phone or something. I hope you didn’t do that. If you did, this is my number. Anyway. I know you said you needed time and everything, but I just wanted to see if you needed any more time, and if you knew how much, because I miss you too. I miss you so much, constantly,” he said, dragging a hand over his face. “And...and I know you’re thinking, but if you could let me know...I love you,” he confessed, blinking up at the stars, which were swimming a little thanks to all the booze. “I love you, and even if we’re not going to do the whole gay thing, I want you in my life forever. So yeah. I just wanted to...check.” He hung up the phone, dropping it onto his stomach and closing his eyes, and then he heard Max’s voice from the chair.

            “You _definitely_ need to get laid.”

            Jake woke up the next day feeling like he’d licked the bottom of a garbage can and then been hit over the head with it. Groaning, he rolled over onto his back, and after a few minutes of lying there feeling sorry for himself he groped around on the nightstand for his phone. It was past one in the afternoon, and Jake had a momentary pang of regret that he didn’t have his collegiate alcohol tolerance any more. He was basically an old man. It was then that he noticed he had a text, and he opened his messages, before staring at his phone in confused shock. The text was from Morgan, received around nine that morning, and it was three words.

_On my way_.

            What the fuck did that mean? Had Morgan meant to text that to someone else and ended up sending it to Jake by accident? And if not, where was Morgan on his way to? Fingers a little shaky, Jake tried calling him, but Morgan’s phone went straight to voicemail without even ringing.

            “What’s going on? Call me,” Jake said simply, before hanging up and dragging himself out of bed and into the kitchen. He needed some fucking coffee, no matter what was happening.

            Several hours later, Jake was feeling far more human after a shower and some French toast, and he was hanging out in the living room playing _Call of Duty_ with Paige when his phone started ringing. He grabbed it off the table and answered it without even pausing the game.

            “Hello?”

            “Hey,” Morgan said. In the background, Jake could hear noise and voices, like he was standing somewhere busy.

            “What’s going on? Where are you?” Paige, who had taken advantage of Jake dropping his controller and killed him already, looked over curiously.

            “I’m, um, at the Minneapolis airport.”

            “ _What_?” The question came out more shrilly than Jake had intended.

            “I’m at the airport. Your airport. I’m sorry I missed your call, I just got off the plane and turned my phone back on.” Jake was speechless with shock. “Um, is this okay? I’m sorry, I can go back if you don’t-”

            “No. That’s not--no, don’t. What terminal are you at?” Jake asked, already up and hunting for shoes.

            “Um, Terminal One, I think. I flew Delta, if that helps.”

            “Okay. I’m on my way. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

            Since both Jake’s parents were at work, he ended up taking Paige’s car, which was an ancient Volvo station wagon. It drove, though, and Jake had to concentrate to keep from flooring the pedal and clocking ninety miles an hour on his way to the airport. When he finally got there, it didn’t take him long to find Morgan, waiting nervously on the sidewalk with a backpack at his feet. Jake pulled up the Volvo and reached over to open the passenger door, and as Morgan saw him, he smiled. Jake had missed that smile so much.

            “Hi,” he said, getting in and stowing the backpack by his feet.

            “Hi,” Jake said, so overwhelmed with questions he couldn’t decide which to ask first. He started with the obvious. “What the hell are you doing here?” Morgan flushed, his eyes dropping.

            “I got your message, last night.” He was fidgeting with the strap around his wrist again. “And I figured this wasn’t a conversation we should have over the phone, you know? So I bought a plane ticket and-” A car behind them honked its horn, and Jake was reminded that they should probably not have their heart-to-heart emotional confrontation in the pickup lane at the airport while he had his blinkers on.

            “Okay,” he said, taking off the blinkers and throwing the car back into gear. “This has to wait until we get home, because this is my sister’s car and if I smack it up she’ll make me buy her a Maserati or something to replace it. So hold that thought.” Morgan nodded, and Jake started the drive home. He was pretty sure he hadn’t driven this conscientiously since his driver’s license exam, but he knew that if he didn’t put his complete focus on driving his brain would wander to the fact that Morgan was _right there_ and he’d wrap Paige’s car around a tree. The 20-minute trip seemed eternal, but finally he pulled into the driveway and parked the car. It looked like his mother had come home by then, although his dad hadn’t. “Come on, inside,” Jake said, getting out and leading Morgan up the driveway. When they came through the garage door, it was to discover that Max, Paige, and Jake’s mom were all in the kitchen waiting for them, sitting in identical positions with their arms crossed over their chests. If Jake had been less preoccupied, he would have found it hilarious.

            “What the fuck is going on?” Max asked, and he and Paige were both glaring daggers at Morgan. Jake somehow didn’t think saying _I have no fucking clue_ would be helpful, so he shrugged and pushed Morgan in the direction of the stairs. He heard disapproving mutters from both his siblings as they went up to the bedroom, and by the time they were inside and Jake had locked the door Morgan was paper-white. As soon as Jake was sure Max would at least have a bit of trouble busting in on them, he rounded on Morgan.

            “So, continue,” he said. “Why are you here?”

            “I…” Morgan was looking at him, panicked and tongue-tied, like any confidence he’d had about what to say was gone. “I just--you said--it was--oh, fuck it.” Before Jake could even realize what was happening, Morgan took two steps forward, closing the distance between them so he could cup Jake’s face in his hands and pull him into a kiss. Their teeth bumped together and Jake let out a startled squeak, but as he felt Morgan start to pull away, his hands clamped down on Morgan’s shoulders to keep him in place as he started to kiss him back. Morgan’s mouth was soft and tentative on Jake’s, but he was leaning into Jake’s chest, close and warm and _there_. When Morgan broke the kiss, it was reluctantly, brushing his lips against Jake’s jaw before looking him in the eye. Jake stared back, thinking dizzily about Morgan’s eyes and Morgan’s mouth and was this some kind of wishful thinking sex hallucination? If it was, he wasn’t sure he wanted it to stop. “We should talk,” Morgan said, finally, like he knew it was necessary but he didn’t have to like it.

            “Yes, we should,” Jake said, reality rushing back in now that his brain had room to process things other than kissing Morgan. “You owe me that explanation now.”

            “I know.” Morgan let Jake go and took a step back, collecting himself. “I, uh. Yeah. I forgot how good you smell,” he said with a small, apologetic smile. “It’s really distracting.”

            “Morgan, explanation, before I go totally fucking insane.”

            “Okay. Sorry.” Morgan was biting his lower lip, before he started talking, quickly and nervously. “When my name started coming in, and I realized what it said, I was already pretty freaked. I couldn’t deny that I liked guys any more, you know? It was right fucking there on me. And to make my gay crisis worse, it was _your_ name, which just forced me to think about how pathetically in love with you I’ve always been. So that night in Ottawa, I’d been panicking about all that for a while, and then you showed up just as I was in the middle of a breakdown. You’ve always had great timing. Then when you took off my wristband your face just lit the fuck up, like you’d just scored the biggest goal of your life, and you showed me your wrist and I realized what was going on and I lost my fucking shit.” Morgan swallowed, hard, but he didn’t look away from Jake’s face. He wanted Jake to know he wasn’t hiding anything. “You looked so happy. You were just fucking _glowing_ and smiling at me and telling me everything’s great, because you thought we were going to be together and you were completely thrilled by that, and it was like suddenly this incredible thing that I’d never even been able to admit I wanted just fell into my lap. It was maybe the most terrified I’ve ever been. So I ran away.”

            “Why?” Jake asked, still not understanding.

            “I didn’t know what to do,” Morgan said helplessly. “It was a lot to handle all at once, you know? And I was a coward who didn’t want to hurt you, because I can’t stand seeing you in pain. By the time you left for Minnesota the next day, I thought I’d fucked everything up so bad you’d never forgive me. It wasn’t until I got that text from you that I realized I might be able to fix things, if I could sort myself out. I knew I needed to do it on my own, though, so I left a message on your phone, and then I went and told my parents everything.”

            “Did that go okay? Were they shocked?” Morgan laughed a little.

            “They were the exact opposite of shocked. Mom said she thought we were already dating.” Jake smiled at that. He’d always liked the Riellys. “They were more thrown off by the wristmate thing, and they kept telling me not to rush any decisions. So I spent a while just figuring out what I wanted, and the longer I thought about it, the more I knew I really did want you.”

            “You want me,” Jake said faintly, needing to make sure he’d heard that right. “Really? Forever? You’re not going to change your mind?”

            “I can’t...I’m twenty goddamn years old, Jake.” Jake’s heart sank, but Morgan kept talking. “I’ll be in your life forever, like you said. I’m not going to change my mind about _that_. I just don’t want to promise you marriage and kids and stuff before I’m completely fucking sure, you know? Not yet. Because right now I think I’d promise anything you wanted if it meant you’d kiss me again.”

            “Yeah?” Jake said, unable to stop himself from moving closer. “Anything?” Morgan smiled at him, blushing shyly.

            “Well, I’d rather not murder anyone, or commit any other felonies, but I’m not taking that off the table if-” He broke off when Jake picked up his hand, holding it palm up as he took off Morgan’s wristband. Lightly, Jake traced his thumb over the writing, and Morgan made a soft, lovely, overwhelmed noise. Jake lifted Morgan’s wrist and pressed a kiss right over the name, and Morgan grabbed onto him, his free arm wrapping around Jake and his hand bunching in the cloth of Jake’s T-shirt as he tried to steady himself. “Never mind. Murder’s okay,” Morgan gasped, right in Jake’s ear. “I’m cool with murder.”

            “You are easy,” Jake laughed, kissing Morgan’s wrist again. He could feel Morgan’s heartbeat against his lips, and it was hammering about as hard as his own.

            “Yeah, whatever, sure,” Morgan agreed, shifting so his hips were pressed flush against Jake’s, even that slight friction and pressure lighting up Jake’s nerves. Jake exhaled, slowly, his brain starting to go fuzzy around the edges. Fuck, it was hard to be rational and adult right then, and Jake was already not a paragon of maturity.

            “We should probably finish talking, first, you know? Make sure everything’s figured out and we know where we stand.” There. He should get a gold medal in the Adulting Olympics for that.

            “Probably.” Morgan didn’t back away, though, and Jake couldn’t make himself do it either. Morgan’s hand slipped under the hem of Jake’s T-shirt, his thumb rubbing circles over Jake’s hip. “Or we could take a break. Come back to that later, when we’re less distracted.”

            “That might not be for a while,” Jake pointed out, ducking his head to suck on the tender skin under Morgan’s jaw, making him shudder. “You’re really distracting.”

            “We have a while, though, right?” Morgan said, circling his hips against Jake’s in a dirty grind that made Jake, for the briefest of moments, genuinely consider bending Morgan over his bed that very second. Morgan leaned back just enough to make eye contact, and Jake understood what Morgan had meant by _glowing_. That was exactly the right word for the look on his face. “Technically, we have forever.” Jake answered that with a kiss.

            It was strangely appropriate that they ended up in Jake’s childhood bed, because Jake hadn’t made out with someone like this since high school. Once he’d gotten to college, kissing had become a prelude to other things, not something to be enjoyed for its own sake. It wasn’t that Jake didn’t want those other things with Morgan--honestly, he wanted pretty much everything with Morgan, at least to try it out--but he was pretty sure if they jumped right into the fucking after everything that had happened in the past hour he’d end up so overwhelmed his brain would short-circuit. It also turned out Morgan was a really, really good kisser, and it would be wrong to not properly appreciate that.

            “Is this bed going to break?” Morgan asked, after about the fourth time a change in position made the wooden frame groan.

            “Maybe.” Jake couldn’t muster up all that much concern, though, especially when there were so many other, nicer things to focus on. Morgan was on top of him, shirtless and braced on his elbows, his thigh pressing against Jake’s crotch and providing a perfect, toe-curling amount of friction. Jake was still technically wearing his shirt, but Morgan had shoved it up to around his armpits so he could run his hands over Jake’s torso, so lovingly Jake didn’t even feel self-conscious about his skinniness compared to Morgan’s build. God, watching the way Morgan’s muscles flexed and shifted was pornographic on its own. “You’re heavier than anyone I’ve ever had in it with me before.” Morgan was in the middle of sucking another hickey onto Jake’s collarbone, but Jake could feel his chest shake with silent laughter. “Seriously!”

            “You are the least suave person,” Morgan said, drawing back to grin at him. Jake leaned up enough to catch Morgan’s bottom lip between his teeth, run his tongue along it, as he worked a hand down the back of Morgan’s jeans to grab his ass. Morgan laughed again, low and breathless, and leaned down to deepen the kiss into something unmistakably sexual. Jake was sucking on Morgan’s tongue as he strongly considered unbuckling Morgan’s belt and getting his hand on Morgan’s hard-on (he was pretty sure Morgan would appreciate that, if the size of the bulge in his pants was any indication) when there was a loud knock on the bedroom door.

            “Hey, bro, are you cleaning up a crime scene in there? If you are, I’ll get some bleach and help.”

            “No,” Jake called, his voice strained because Morgan hadn’t stopped, but had instead moved back to Jake’s collarbone in his apparent quest to completely cover Jake in hickeys. “It’s fine. We’re fine.”

            “Oh, goddammit, you are fucking,” Max said despondently. “Christ, Jake, couldn’t you have thought with your brain instead of your dick this one time? Now I owe Paige fifty bucks.” By then, Morgan had his face buried in the crook of Jake’s neck in an attempt to muffle hysterics, and Jake was seriously considering fratricide. “Anyway, Mom says dinner will be ready in five minutes, so finish doing gay butt stuff and come downstairs.”

            “Go die in a fire, you sick freak.”

            “Love you too.” Jake heard Max retreat down the hall, and then Morgan sat up.

            “Downstairs?” He looked nervous at the thought. “Me too?”

            “Yeah, you too.” Reluctantly, Jake got up, fixing his shirt and picking Morgan’s up off the floor. “Um, just as a warning, they might not be too happy with you.”

            “I kind of figured, when I came into your kitchen and saw the death glares.” Morgan pulled the shirt over his head and got to his feet, reaching up to flatten Jake’s hair.

            “They’re just...I was really upset, and they’re all really overprotective. Even Paige, which is ridiculous because she’s my baby sister.”

            “They love you, and I’m the dick who hurt you.” Morgan looked guilty, now.

            “Hey, stop,” Jake said gently. “It doesn’t matter what they think, okay? This is about us, not my weirdo family. I’ll keep Max from killing you, and it’ll be fine.”

            They managed to straighten themselves out enough that it wasn’t immediately obvious what they’d been doing, and then Jake led Morgan downstairs. Jake’s mom was in the kitchen making a salad, and Paige was stacking plates. Paige looked up when Jake and Morgan came into the room, and there was that glare again.

            “Hey, sweetie,” Jake’s mom said cheerfully, looking over at them. “It’s such a nice evening, your dad wanted to eat on the deck again, so he and Max are outside arguing over the grill. Nice to see you, Morgan.”

            “Hi,” Morgan said, managing a polite but clearly uneasy smile.

            “Is it okay if he stays in the guest room for a bit, Mom?” Jake asked, and Paige’s jaw dropped, before she spun around and headed outside with the plates. Jake’s mother didn’t miss a beat.

            “Of course. Jake, we’re having burgers, so can you grab the ketchup and everything out of the fridge?”

            “Sure.” Jake opened the refrigerator and took out all the relevant condiments, handing half of them to Morgan. “Let’s go, before Max sets all the food on fire.”

            By the time Jake and Morgan came outside, Paige had relayed that Morgan was staying in the guest room, and talk immediately ceased at the sight of the two of them. Sighing, Jake dumped the ketchup and pickle relish onto the table and turned to his family.

            “Will you guys cut it the fuck out?”

            “What the fuck _is_ this shit?” Max demanded, before their father could chastise Jake for the profanity.

            “You’re just forgiving him immediately? Seriously? The fuck, Jake,” Paige agreed, and their father sighed in defeat at his children’s lack of manners, returning to his grill.

            “Look, he’s _my_ wristmate, not yours, so you all need to back the fuck off with this nosy bullshit.”

            “Jake, he made you _cry_. Do you have any idea how annoying you are when you cry? You sound like an asthmatic dolphin.”

            “Yeah, well, you can go fuck-” Jake began, but Morgan cut him off before he could finish swearing at Max.

            “You cried?” He looked like the idea was incredibly upsetting.

            “Oh, God, he was fucking unbearable for weeks,” Max said, and Morgan looked over at Jake, his eyes soft and apologetic.

            “You didn’t tell me you cried.”

            “It’s not important,” Jake said, and Morgan shook his head, resting his hand on Jake’s lower back.

            “It is. You never cry. I didn’t even know that was a thing your eyes could do.”

            “Later,” Jake told him, sliding his hand into the back pocket of Morgan’s jeans. Morgan leaned into Jake’s body, his presence still so _real_ , and Jake turned his head just enough to inhale the smell of Morgan’s shampoo and laundry detergent and warm, clean skin. It was, like Morgan had said, distracting.

            “God, you’re such a fucking sap,” Max said from over by the grill, and before Jake could snap at his brother, Jake’s dad did it for him.

            “Max, if you’re not going to be polite in front of our guest, keep your mouth shut.” Their father smiled at Morgan. “Medium rare okay for your burgers, Morgan?”

            “That’s great. Can I do something to help?” Morgan asked hesitantly. Apparently his ingrained Canadian politeness still showed up when he was this nervous, and Jake was far gone enough that he found it incredibly cute.

            “No, no, go on and have a seat. You must be tired after your flight. How long did it take?”

            “About four hours, I think,” Morgan said, following Jake over to the table and sitting down next to him. “I got a direct flight and there were no delays, so it wasn’t too bad.”

            “Well, that’s good,” Jake’s mom said as she came outside, carrying the salad. “I’ll make up the guest room after dinner, then. I wish Jake had thought to mention you were coming earlier, so I’d have had time to wash the nice sheets.”

            “It wasn’t Jake’s fault,” Morgan said quickly, before Jake could stop him from falling right into his mother’s carefully laid trap. “He didn’t know until I was here, actually.”

            “Really.” All of Jake’s family was looking at Morgan by then, and Morgan had realized he probably shouldn’t have said that. “What made you decide to come to Minneapolis so last-minute?”

            “Um.” Morgan looked like he was verging on full-blown speechless panic again, and Jake put a hand on his thigh.

            “Seriously, all of you, back-”

            “I really needed to talk to Jake,” Morgan said in a rush. “It was important for me to see him in person. And I felt really awful about how I acted back in April, so I guess I wanted to do this big thing to show him how much I care, because I really, really care.” There was a pause, during which Jake stared at the bright pink flush on Morgan’s cheeks. He _got_ to stare, now, openly and without feeling guilty. It was a thing he was totally allowed to do, and that felt both fantastic and weird.

            “What kind of caring are we talking about, here?” Max asked finally.

            “I’m disgustingly in love with him,” Morgan answered, his voice light but deeply honest. Jake knew the grin on his face probably looked pretty stupid, but fuck it, he didn’t even care anymore.

            “Like, in a gay way?”

            “Yeah, what do you want, a demonstration?” Morgan retorted, and Jake laughed, because it was either that or happy crying and nobody on the patio would ever let him forget that.

            “Ew, Jake, your boyfriend’s a perv,” Max said, screwing up his face, but Jake knew the insult was really approval.

            “Burgers are ready,” Jake’s dad announced loudly, presumably to stop _that_ conversation in its tracks. “Anyone want a beer?”

            Jake wasn’t able to get Morgan alone for hours. They ate dinner, followed by Morgan washing dishes and cheerfully talking to Paige and Jake’s parents in the kitchen as Jake helped his brother clean the grill. He kept looking through the screen door, making sure Morgan wasn’t freaking out, and Max elbowed him gently.

            “He’s good, bro.”

            “Yeah, sorry.” Jake returned to scrubbing the grill with a wire brush.

            “No, I mean it.” Jake looked up at his brother, who grinned at him, nodding towards the door. From inside, Jake could hear Morgan telling a story, the words unintelligible but his tone happy and relaxed. Whatever he was saying, it was making Jake’s mom laugh so hard she had to lean on the kitchen island. “He’s really good, like, in general. And for you. I’m glad I didn’t murder him.”

            “Me too.”

            “I have lube somewhere, if you need that for tonight.”

            “Oh, God, _ew_ ,” Jake said, reflexively shuddering at the idea of Max doing anything that would require personal lubricant, and then again at Max thinking about Jake doing anything that would require personal lubricant. Then, a few seconds of reflection later, “That would be great, thanks.”

            Finally, he was able to get some privacy by suggesting that he and Morgan should make up the bed in the guest room. It was obvious that his parents were expecting him to also sleep in there, but they also weren’t going to voice that expectation, which was fine with Jake. Using Max’s lube was already enough tangential family involvement in his sex life.

            “Linen closet’s here.” Jake pulled open the door, rummaging through it for sheets that would fit. After a bit of searching, he handed Morgan a towel, as well as the fitted sheet and the pillowcases. “Give me a second. I need the whole set. Mom’s got this weird thing about making me use top sheets.”

            “Your mom said there was a separate shower off the guest room,” Morgan said, and Jake glanced at him over his shoulder.

            “Yeah, and I think there’s shampoo and everything in there.”

            “Get yourself a towel, too,” Morgan suggested, leaning in closer and sliding his arm around Jake’s waist. Jake found the flat sheet a moment later, thank God, and grabbed it and another towel.

            “It’s the door at the end of the hall.”

            As soon as they got through the door, Morgan wrapped his arms around Jake’s neck, leaning in to kiss him.

            “No, stop, the bed,” Jake managed, and Morgan stopped, his face an inch away. Jake had a feeling that if he’d been able to see his expression, Morgan would be pouting. “Seriously, we need at least the bottom sheet on, because when I start kissing you, I’m not going to stop.”

            “How romantic,” Max said from the doorway, and Morgan immediately stepped away from Jake and shoved both his hands in his pockets, trying to look casual but only managing guilty.

            “What do you want, douchebag?” Jake snapped. Max held up a bottle of Astroglide in answer, and Jake remembered. “Right. Sorry.” Max tossed it at him and immediately left, shutting the door behind him. Just to be safe, Jake locked it.

            “Is that lube?” Morgan asked, and there was something strange in his voice.

            “Yeah. Just in case. Obviously we don’t have to use it, or do anything, but I wanted to have it on hand, you know?” Jake yanked the quilt and pillows off the bed, wondering if he’d freaked Morgan out. Maybe buttsex wasn’t a thing he was into, and Jake presuming otherwise was a bad thing.

            “No, that’s fine, but I already have a bottle.” Jake turned to stare at him, and Morgan grinned, indicating the backpack sitting in a corner. “I packed lube, two T-shirts, and a week’s worth of underwear. I figured that covered my bases.”

            “You were confident,” Jake said, his mouth suddenly dry.

            “Fuck no. I was terrified out of my mind. But I’ve fantasized way too many times about you fucking me to risk not being prepared if there was the slightest chance of that happening.” Jake stared at him speechlessly for a few moments, before holding out a hand.

            “The bottom sheet. I’ll put it on.”

            It took far longer than it should have, thanks to Jake’s shaky hands combined with his utter lack of housekeeping knowledge, but finally the mattress was covered and Jake turned around.

            “So, are we going to do this?” Morgan asked, after what must have been a solid minute of the two of them staring at each other. He looked awkward and nervous again, and seemed unsure of what to do with his hands. “Do you...I mean, I’ve never…”

            “Stop it,” Jake said, and Morgan’s eyes widened in fear. “No, not that, I mean--fuck, Morgan, come here before we both freak out too much,” he said, stepping forward, and then Morgan was in his arms.

            Jake had always subconsciously assumed sex with his wristmate would be different from sex with other people, the way it always was in romance novels, mindblowing in a soft-focus, effortless way. It turned out he was right about the first part, but completely wrong about the second. Every moment stood out clearly, felt sharp and vivid and immediate, and nothing about it was effortless. It didn’t matter, because it was Morgan, and as they clumsily shed clothes and ended up on the bed, Jake wouldn’t have traded Morgan digging his elbow into Jake’s gut for anything else in the world.

            “Sorry,” Morgan apologized, and Jake answered by kissing him again, grabbing a handful of his ass for good measure. Morgan had such a great ass. Morgan had such a great _everything_ , really. A few seconds earlier, Jake had barely restrained himself from licking Morgan’s bicep, because even if the definition of his upper arms was mouthwatering, Morgan would probably find that weird and unsexy. “Can we?” Morgan asked breathlessly, rolling his hips down into Jake’s, the friction making Jake’s brain go blank for a moment.

            “Anything you want,” Jake said, even though he didn’t know what Morgan meant. If he could make it happen, Morgan would get it. Morgan rolled off him immediately, and Jake whined in complaint and started trying to tug him close again. Morgan laughingly swatted at him with one hand.

           “Wait one second, you impatient manchild.” He grabbed the bottle of lube lying on the mattress. All of the air left Jake’s lungs in a _whoosh_ at the wonderful, perfect, terrifying realization of what Morgan wanted. “Do you have any clue how to do this?” Morgan asked, handing it to Jake. “Because I don’t. Practically speaking.”

            “I, um. I think we can figure it out?” Jake managed. “Just, are you sure you want _me_ to...I’m fine with it either way.” Morgan leaned in to kiss him, quick but loving.

            “I know.” Without warning, he grabbed Jake’s cock, circling his thumb around the tip in a slow caress that made Jake bite his lip to keep from crying out. “This time I want it to be you.”

            “Yeah?” Jake knocked Morgan’s hand away, because that made it damn near impossible to think straight, and flipped him over so he was pinning Morgan to the mattress. “Did you really think about me fucking you?”

            “Oh, yeah,” Morgan said shamelessly. “I’ve thought about banging you in pretty much every situation and position imaginable. Me topping, you topping, on my back, from behind, the showers at the ACC, the bathroom on the jet, every piece of furniture in our apartment, you get the picture. Guest room at your parents’ house wasn’t on the list, but whatever.”

            “Hm.” Jake nudged Morgan’s legs apart, running a hand up the inside of his thigh as he kissed over Morgan’s chest. “And you’re not saying I should top first because you want to prove that you love me, right?”

            “Of course not. I’m just lazy,” Morgan said flippantly, which proved that Jake was at least partly right.

            “You’re lucky I love you, with a work ethic like that,” Jake said, starting to move down, pausing to fulfill a long-held fantasy of tracing his tongue over Morgan’s six-pack.

            “I’m lucky you love me, period.” Morgan was totally serious, and Jake didn’t dare look up at him. He was _not_ going to tear up during sex, dammit, he had some pride. Instead, he licked a stripe up the underside of Morgan’s cock, and Morgan’s hips twitched as he bit out a curse. Pleased, Jake tried taking the head into his mouth, curling his tongue around it and sucking lightly. Morgan moaned, the muscles in his thigh jumping under Jake’s hand. Jake had very little idea what he was doing, but he wasn’t trying to make Morgan come like this, so he might as well try some things out. When Morgan was spread out limp and quivering on the mattress, making low, incoherent sounds of need, Jake pulled off and sat up, groping for the lube. At the sound of the cap flipping, Morgan opened his eyes, looking up at Jake with a dazed expression.

            “You ready?” Jake asked, hooking a hand under Morgan’s knee, moving him so he was kneeling between Morgan’s legs and then slicking up his fingers.

            “Yeah.” With his free hand, Jake reached for Morgan’s, brushing his thumb over the lettering on Morgan’s wrist as he slowly pushed the first finger in. He’d fully intended on stretching Morgan out as slowly and cautiously as possible, but it was only after a minute or so that Morgan put a stop to that idea. “Another,” he said, wiggling a little, looking up at Jake out of big, pleading blue eyes. “It’s the fucking offseason. I want you, please.” Someday, Jake’s inability to refuse Morgan anything was going to get them both into trouble. Jake carefully added another finger, and when they were both fully in Morgan took a deep, steadying breath.

            “Better?” Jake asked, and Morgan nodded. His cheeks were so pink, the flush spreading down his neck and across his collarbones. His lips were swollen and shiny from kissing, and he was biting them to try and ground himself, turning them red. The sight of Morgan like that was so fucking enchanting Jake sat there frozen for a few moments, forgetting to continue. “Feels good?” he asked, after he’d had some time to process the view.

            “I knew it would. You’ve got such big hands,” Morgan said, and he sounded a little hoarse. “Big hands and long fingers. Fuck, Jake, _please_ , keep going,” he pleaded, and a deep, uncivilized part of Jake loved hearing Morgan desperate for him. He wanted more of that; wanted to see just how many buttons of Morgan’s he could find and push, how long it would take before Morgan, who always had a comeback on hand, couldn’t find any words at all. Jake started fingering Morgan more roughly, pushing as deep as he could, curling and scissoring his fingers. Morgan moaned in approval, tilting his head back to breathe as his grip tightened on Jake’s other hand. Jake tried crooking his fingers to find Morgan’s prostate, and it turned out his limited knowledge of technique was functional enough, based on the way Morgan had to swallow a scream.

            “That’s it?” Jake asked, thrusting his fingers against that spot, and Morgan nodded emphatically as he turned his face to the side, panting against the mattress. Jake couldn’t resist dragging his fingers over it firmly, watching Morgan muffle a groan as he tried to stay relatively quiet. Soon, Jake promised himself, they’d do this when there was no one else around and Morgan could sound like the porn star he apparently was at heart.

            He pulled his fingers out, leaning down to kiss Morgan, wet and filthy in a way that indicated they’d both totally lost any inhibitions or sense of shame.

            “How do you want me?” Morgan asked as they broke apart. Jake almost answered _forever_ , which was the goddamned truth, but also really wasn’t what Morgan had meant and he’d been enough of a Hallmark card today.

            “Like this. Bend your knees more, c’mon. Rubber?” Jake remembered to ask, and Morgan shook his head.

            “No, I want it like this. Just us, nothing else. I’m clean,” he added on, apparently mistaking the overwhelmed look on Jake’s face for one of apprehension.

            “Okay,” Jake murmured, leaning down to kiss him softly. “Ready?” Morgan nodded, and watching his face the whole time, Jake pressed inside.

            Jake hadn’t been expecting to last long, especially after Morgan said he didn’t want a condom, but he still wasn’t prepared for how everything felt. Maybe he should have gone for the rubber, mushy romance be damned, if just for the possibility that he’d be able to hold out for a bit more. It felt like someone had hooked his central nervous system up to an electrical generator, everything tingly and hypersensitive.

            “Jake,” Morgan said thickly, and the sound helped, gave Jake something to ground him. “If you don’t move right fucking now, I think I’m going to die.” 

            “Yeah?” Jake asked, giving Morgan’s cock a stroke, earning himself a few words of gibberish as Morgan’s back arched up. Jake’s hips snapped forward, not entirely voluntarily, wrenching a moan out of Morgan. It was probably too loud. It didn’t fucking matter. It turned out that Morgan was as desperately close to the edge as Jake, and barely two seconds after Morgan came, groaning total nonsense mixed with Jake’s name, Jake climaxed hard enough the world went dark.

            “We should shower.” Morgan’s words brought Jake back down to Earth, God knows how much later.

            “Mm-hm.” Jake yawned, not opening his eyes. He’d collapsed down on top of Morgan, face buried in Morgan’s shoulder, and he didn’t really want to move at all. His limbs felt relaxed and floaty, and Morgan was warm and smelled nice.

            “Seriously, Jake, get up. You’re heavy and you’re smothering me.”

            “Fine,” Jake sighed, rolling to the side, lying faceup on the mattress trying to reboot his brain. “Kill my afterglow, see if I care.”

            “I might blow you in the shower, if you play your cards right,” Morgan said, and Jake was off the bed and in the bathroom within ten seconds. He could hear Morgan laughing at him as he turned on the water tap and got in.

            “Shut up, I’m doing what you want,” Jake called, and he heard footsteps as Morgan followed him into the bathroom.

            “I just wasn’t expecting that bribe to work so well.” Morgan pulled the curtain aside and got into the shower, crowding up against Jake so he could stand under the water too. “It’s not like it would be a good blowjob.”

            “Haven’t you figured out by now that it doesn’t matter? It’s you.” Morgan looked up at him, surprised, and Jake sighed. “Sorry. I sound super gross, I know.”

            “No, it’s okay,” Morgan said, leaning in to kiss Jake’s cheek. “If you sound gross, so do I, so it cancels out or something.”

            “You don’t, though.”

            “Maybe not in front of you.” Jake looked at him questioningly, so Morgan elaborated. “After I got your message last night, I went to find my parents, to tell them that I had to go to Minneapolis, I had to see you. I found Dad first, and I was pretty, uh, emotional, so he started trying to talk me out of doing anything rash, you know, being a good dad. Until I told him that I’ve been in love with you since the first month we lived together. I said that no matter what else is going on, I feel better when you’re next to me. I said that you light up my world like nothing else can, which might be a One Direction lyric and I don’t even care because it’s true. He drove me to the airport in the morning, so I guess it worked.” Jake was glad they were in the shower, because it gave him a good excuse for any wetness on his face.

            “We’ve got to get ourselves under control before training camp,” he managed, and Morgan started laughing. “No, really! Carlyle already hates me, he’d hate me extra if he thought I turned our one blue-chip prospect gay.”

            “You look so cute in your press box suit, though,” Morgan teased, and Jake swatted his ass for that. “Ow! Hey! And who says you did the turning, anyway?”

            “Fair point,” Jake admitted. “It doesn’t matter, though. We’re both there now.”

            “Yeah,” Morgan said, leaning in for a kiss. “We are.”

 

_Six Weeks Later_

 

            The morning of July 4th, Jake drove out to the Minneapolis airport, this time in his own car. He’d gone back to Toronto in late May, to finally pack properly and drive his car back to Minnesota. When he got to the airport, he parked and went inside to the baggage claim, looking up at the arriving flights.

            “Nice shirt, handsome,” Morgan said, rolling his suitcase over to stand next to Jake and crane his head up at the arrival board. “You’re a Leafs fan, eh?”

            “That was quick. How many little old ladies did you knock down to get off the plane so fast?”

            “Only two, and one of them looked mean.” Morgan smiled at him, and the love in it made Jake’s heart turn to mush. Morgan had been in Vancouver for less than a month, and Jake had still missed him constantly. “Happy birthday.”

            “Thanks,” Jake said, smiling back.

            “Where’s your car? We should go back to your house so I can give you your present.” The faint smirk on Morgan’s face gave Jake a pretty good idea of what that present was going to be.

            “Parking garage, this way.”

            When they got back to the Gardiner house, there was no one home. This was expected; Jake’s parents were both at work, and Max and Paige, in an uncommon display of consideration, had both made plans with friends that happened to coincide with Morgan’s arrival. As soon as the two of them were through the door, Jake went for Morgan, backing him up against the wall of the entryway and leaning in for a kiss. Laughing, Morgan ducked it, sliding out of Jake’s grip and backing towards the stairs.

            “I have to get your present ready.”

            “Come on, Mo, that’s cruel,” Jake said, reaching out, but Morgan took another step backwards.

            “Wait down here for two minutes, okay? Literally two minutes, then come up to the guest room.” Jake rolled his eyes, but decided to humor him, tapping his foot on the carpet as he timed exactly two minutes on the living room wall clock. As he climbed the stairs, he listened for any strange sounds coming from the guest bedroom, but everything seemed normal. Morgan had even left the door open.

            “Okay, what the fuck is-” Jake began as he came through the door, before stopping as he got a good look at Morgan, lying sprawled out over the bed in nothing but a pair of very tight boxer briefs patterned like the American flag. Jake should probably be ashamed of wanting to fuck anyone in novelty flag underwear as much as he wanted to fuck Morgan.

            “Happy birthday,” Morgan said with a grin, sitting up and sliding to the foot of the bed.

            “Is this my present?” Jake asked, closing the door behind him out of force of habit.

            “Yeah. Since it’s also American Canada Day, I thought I’d pay my respects to Canada’s underwear with, well, some underwear. It’s not all of your present, though. Come here.” Jake obliged, and when he was a few feet away from the bed Morgan slid off the mattress and onto his knees. “I thought I could sing to you, if you wanted,” Morgan went on as he undid the fly of Jake’s shorts. “I probably know all the words to your national anthem. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket, but it’s the spirit of the thing, right? Take off your shirt.”

             “You really don’t have to sing,” Jake said, his voice muffled as he fought to pull his T-shirt over his head. “Seriously. Please do not ruin this by singing.”

             “Okay,” Morgan said, surprisingly agreeably. “It’s your birthday.” He pulled Jake’s shorts down, looking up at him as he leaned forward to lightly mouth at Jake’s cock through his boxers. Jake sucked in a ragged breath as Morgan drew back, hooking his fingers in the waistband and tugging the boxers down too. “God, I missed your cock,” Morgan muttered, and that sentiment combined with a flick of his tongue over the tip punched a moan right out of Jake. “I missed the rest of you, too,” Morgan said, continuing his one-way conversation as he curled a hand around the base. “Obviously. But I was a bit surprised, how much I missed this.” Jake was fighting to string words into a sentence that wasn’t _oh God yes me too please your mouth_ when Morgan swallowed him down. The first time Morgan had blown Jake, in the shower after the first time they’d had sex, he’d taken it slow and shallow. Since they’d spent the next two weeks naked more often than not, Morgan (and Jake, for that matter) had improved tremendously at cocksucking, but right then he was showing some next-level skill.

            “Where did you _learn_ that?” Jake gasped, after Morgan pulled off to take a few breaths because he’d been deepthroating, which he could apparently do now, _holy shit_.

            “I practiced,” Morgan said, licking slowly right under the head. “Offseason training is important too. You can’t only put effort into game situations.”

            “Oh, God, I’m getting a blowie from Eakins.” Morgan had to pull away and bury his face in Jake’s stomach, he was laughing so hard. “That’s exactly who you sound like. You sound like Dallas right now.”

            “You sure know how to set the mood,” Morgan said through giggles. “Comparing me to our old coaches gets me so hot.”

            “The only reason I’m still hard after that is because it’s you blowing me,” Jake said, tangling his hand in Morgan’s hair and tilting his face up. “So it’s really a compliment, you mouthy little punk.”

            “That’s not very nice,” Morgan said, but the way he was beaming up at Jake said he was flattered anyway.

            “Oh, it’s _nice_ you want?” Jake asked, his voice dropping into a lower register, and Morgan’s eyes widened a little. He shook his head, wetting his lips in a way that looked unconscious but Jake knew full well was calculated, and promptly slid Jake’s cock back into his mouth.

            The first few times they’d had sex, it had been emotionally charged to the point of becoming overwhelming. Jake hadn’t realized at the time that he’d been trying to pack as much _feeling_ into it as he could, make it as intensely, mind-blowingly romantic as possible, but Morgan had.

            “I love you,” he told Jake, after he’d been in Minnesota a few days. “But this--us--it’s not some sweeping star-crossed lovers shit. We’re the boring kind of soulmates. If you cry every time we fuck, that’ll get exhausting, fast.”

            “I have _never-_ ” Morgan looked at him skeptically, and Jake gave up. “You’re special. I don’t...I don’t want you feeling like I’m not.”

            “Oh, you are the biggest idiot alive,” Morgan sighed. “Look, fucking you is fantastic and all, don’t get me wrong, but if the sex was the only thing you had going for you, I wouldn’t be standing here folding the fucking Mount Everest of laundry piles right now, you know? I’m in this for _you._ ” Jake tried to hide the lovestruck grin on his face by grabbing and folding one of Max’s T-shirts. His mother had cheerfully taken Morgan up on his offer of _help_ by sending him into the laundry room to fold an endless heap of clothes, which Morgan had done without complaint even though Jake knew how much he hated laundry. “Your mom is awesome, by the way, but she’s kind of devious.”

            “Always volunteer for something specific,” Jake advised. “I learned the hard way.”

            After that, sex became more relaxed--not casual, exactly, but it wasn’t necessarily a grand display of devotion. Jake hadn’t expected _normal_ with Morgan to be this incredible, but when Morgan was acting like himself, the same funny and impulsive and sweetly sarcastic guy Jake knew and adored, Jake had to restrain himself from bragging to passerby that Morgan was his boyfriend. Most people probably wouldn’t find novelty boxer briefs, teasing banter, and a midday blowjob romantic, but for Jake it was the emotional equivalent of a weekend in Paris and a little blue box with a white ribbon.

            “Mo, I’m close,” Jake warned him, after spending God knows how long admiring Morgan’s eyelashes and his red, shiny lips. Jake wasn’t right on the edge yet, but more warning was always better, especially now that he understood how weird it felt to have someone come in your mouth. He should probably write apology letters to a few old girlfriends, if that wouldn’t be weird and kind of creepy. Morgan glanced up at him, not pausing, and Jake had to smile even though that sight was dizzyingly hot. Morgan looked so angelic when he wasn’t running his mouth, although since his next move was to slide his hand up the inside of Jake’s leg and cup his balls, that was obviously an illusion. Jake wasn’t even sure what Morgan _did_ with his tongue, but whatever it was, it made Jake come so hard his knees buckled. Jake caught himself, looking down at Morgan, who pulled off with a slurping noise that sounded like a sound effect from a terrible porno. If this hockey thing didn’t work out for him, that might be a decent second career.

            “Good?” Morgan asked, and his voice was a little hoarse. Jake had no idea if that question was rhetorical, but it also didn’t matter.

            “Up,” Jake said in answer, pointing to the bed as he tried to get his feet untangled from his shorts. Morgan bounced to his feet and jumped onto the bed, leaning back onto the mattress and arranging himself in an intentionally hilarious come-hither pose. The tightness of his underwear was really putting his erection on display, and Jake fleetingly considered taking a photo. “You look like a _Playgirl_ centerfold. For a photoshoot called _America the Beautiful_.”

            “And they say men can’t be romantic,” Morgan teased. Finally free of his clothes, Jake climbed onto the bed, ranging himself over Morgan and leaning down for a kiss. As his knee slid between Morgan’s legs, the pressure of his thigh against Morgan’s hard-on made Morgan moan into the kiss. Because sometimes, Jake was a weak man who gave in to his baser impulses, he shifted just enough to get his hand on Morgan’s cock. Morgan’s hips bucked forward as he made a pathetic whining sound, his hands grabbing at Jake’s shoulders like he wanted to manhandle him but had no idea how or to where. Based on the damp patch of precum under Jake’s palm and the way Morgan’s cock seemed aching and sensitive even through fabric, Jake knew Morgan was already keyed up to the point of desperation. “Fuck, Jake, come on,” Morgan begged, squirming as Jake started rubbing lightly. “I’ve been waiting, damn it.”

            “Yeah?” A firm press of the heel of his palm, and Morgan’s body spasmed. “Waiting to see me?”

            “ _Fuck_ , not _see_ ,” Morgan retorted, making Jake laugh. “I’ve got plenty of pictures.” Jake pressed down again, trying to focus in on the head, and Morgan groaned as his grip on Jake’s shoulders turned bruisingly tight.

            “Ow, stop that,” Jake said, grabbing Morgan’s wrists and pinning them to the mattress. Morgan didn’t fight him, just looked up from underneath Jake, flushed and breathless and faintly smirking.

            “You want to be on top, yeah?” Jake kissed him, a deep, wet kiss that made Morgan hum happily in his throat. The hum turned into a lovely whimper as Jake rolled his pelvis down against Morgan’s.

            “This time,” Jake said, kissing his way along Morgan’s jaw, nipping his earlobe as he kept rubbing against Morgan. “You look like a fucking dream right now.” Morgan tried to respond, but Jake started sucking on the spot behind his ear that always turned him boneless, and he ended up making senseless noises of need instead. He tried to pull his hands out of Jake’s grip, but Jake held him in place. “You said you didn’t want nice, so you aren’t getting nice.”

            “Okay, fuck me, then,” Morgan managed, tilting his head so Jake could more easily attack his neck. “Whatever you want. Anything, seriously, _anything._ ”

            “If you’re good. Did you jerk off to pictures of me?” Jake asked, half to torment Morgan, half out of curiosity.

            “Pictures. Videos. Memories. I stole one of your T-shirts and wore it to bed until it didn’t smell like you any more.” Jake froze for a second, staring down at Morgan, who looked up at him earnestly. A moment later, he closed his eyes and groaned as Jake ground their hips together, slow and hard and almost enough to break through Jake’s refractory period.

            “I love you,” Jake said, doing it again as he kissed Morgan’s mouth, letting Morgan’s shaky moans serve as reply. He knew when he’d succeeded because Morgan broke the kiss to start swearing, loudly, mixed with cries of Jake’s name. Objectively, the face he made when he came was probably not that flattering, but fuck objectivity. Jake thought he looked beautiful.

            “Oh, God,” Morgan gasped when he was done, closing his eyes and going limp against the mattress. Jake let go of one wrist to cup his face and kiss him, the grip on the other turning into a caress of his name. “I haven’t done that since I was fourteen, asshole.”

            “You tried your best,” Jake said, unable to not smile smugly. Morgan didn’t even glare, instead wrapping his arm around Jake and kissing him again.

            “Do you think coming in these boxers counts as desecrating the American flag?” he asked when they broke apart, and Jake couldn’t stop from bursting into laughter. “Seriously!”

            “Eh, I think you really improved them,” Jake said, arching an eyebrow, and Morgan grinned up at him. “By the way, you should wear underwear like those more often.”

            “Wow, um, do you have some kind of patriotism fetish I need to-”

            “No, not the print, you shithead. I mean tiny and really, really tight.” Jake kissed the corner of Morgan’s mouth. “Makes your junk look fantastic.”

            “My junk is fantastic,” Morgan kidded, but he was blushing.

            “Exactly. It’s truth in advertising. I’ll even buy them for you.”

            “Go for it. You should appreciate how hard it was to get these off Canadian Amazon, by the way.” Laughing, Jake rolled off Morgan, sitting up and stretching as Morgan did the same. “Happy birthday, Gards.”

            “Thanks for the present. Best one so far,” Jake said, and Morgan ran a hand over his back.

            “I’m glad. Oh, yeah, at some point today, I’m going to give you a nice, hard, deep fucking, make sure you don’t start thinking you’re in charge here. That can wait until after the fireworks, though.” Morgan got up and headed into the bathroom, and Jake watched him go, marveling at how good the stripes made his ass look. Although, Morgan’s ass didn’t need any help to look good.

            Independence Day was Jake’s favorite holiday, and would probably have been up there even if it wasn’t also his birthday. The Minnetonka town fireworks were visible from the Gardiners’ backyard, and Jake’s parents hosted a small barbecue, giving Jake the opportunity to stuff his face with various grilled meats and talk Morgan into trying his mom’s potato salad. Morgan immediately ate two servings of it, because that potato salad was legendary. Before the fireworks were scheduled to start, everyone picked spots, and Jake led Morgan over to the trampoline since his parents’ friends had all the proper chairs. They sat down, and it was dark enough that Jake felt comfortable sliding his arm around Morgan’s waist, pulling him close.

            “You should come to Vancouver for a while this summer,” Morgan said, smacking a mosquito on Jake’s thigh. “Mom and Dad are really jealous that they haven’t gotten to terrify you yet.”

            “I was thinking about that,” Jake said, because it was only fair, and he knew Morgan was mostly kidding about the terror. “August, maybe?”

            “Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll talk to them tomorrow.” The trampoline creaked, and Jake looked over as Max sat down, kicked out his feet and leaned back.

            “What do you want?”

            “There aren’t any chairs left,” Max told him. “Do you think you can detach your tongue from his tonsils for a 20-minute fireworks show, Jake?”

            “It’s not like he’s leaving tonight,” Paige said, dropping down next to Morgan. “You have what, a week?”

            “Sorry, I think my siblings were raised by wolves,” Jake sighed to Morgan, who shrugged. His hand was still on Jake’s thigh.

            “They’re your family. And I’ve seen your table manners, so don’t act like it was just them.” Paige clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a surprised giggle.

            “I like you,” Max said cheerfully, and Morgan laughed.

            “Good. That makes things a lot easier.” Jake knew he should probably be offended, but he couldn’t make himself feel anything remotely negative right then. Morgan leaned his head on Jake’s shoulder, and the first few rockets were shooting into the sky when Max spoke again.

            “You two owe me a bottle of lube, by the way.”


End file.
